


Paradise Lost

by jokeannnne, Patronus_Stag



Category: Mozart l'Opéra Rock - Mozart/Baguian & Guirao
Genre: Author says it's a PWP, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Possessed Salieri, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Salieri made a deal with Devil, Translation, Translation from Chinese, and not so much porn, but there're quite some plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 10:46:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14423760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jokeannnne/pseuds/jokeannnne, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Patronus_Stag/pseuds/Patronus_Stag
Summary: After Mozart’s death, Salieri prayed for a chance to meet him again. His wish was granted, in the worst possible way.





	Paradise Lost

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [【摇滚莫扎特】Paradise Lost 失·乐园 （万字PWP，非正常！萨列里/莫扎特，完结）](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/374841) by 衣十三. 



***

 

O Lord, have mercy upon your follower——

Three days and nights after Mozart’s funeral, Salieri could no longer bear this world. He fell on his knees in front of God, and prayed for a miracle.

The forth day passed, then the fifth, the sixth…

Inside the church, the gilded Christ looked down upon him. There was no emotion in his eyes.

Three years after Mozart was buried, Salieri had prayed to God, to Satan, to the Sun, to the Moon, to every shrine he had ever encountered, to every deity he had ever heard of, for the same miracle. 

Please allow me to see him one more time. His prayer was ardent, his attitude menial, his heart dangling in apprehension. Time after time, day after day, he seemed tireless, and his entreaty endless. I’m willing to pay any price, anything, for a chance to lay my eyes on him again—on Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.

The forth year passed, then the fifth, the sixth…

 

Nine years after Mozart’s burial, Salieri finally got an answer.

 

“Do you really want to see him?” It was a moonless night, the freezing air of early spring tingled on his skin. A snake, green as emerald, slithered out of the shadow. It glided silently through the court musician’s bedroom, mounted the headpiece of his bed via the poster. It approached Salieri, who was still saying his prayers, and spoke in human voice: “—regardless of the cost?”

Salieri opened his eyes abruptly, and found himself gaping into a pair of golden pupils. 

He knew he should reject it. His reason was chiding: “You should never trust a snake, Antonio Salieri, it would only lead you into the abyss of destruction.”

No. He wanted to answer. But there was sorcery in the snake’s eyes. An unknown power suddenly gripped his heart and strangled his throat.

Without warning, images of Mozart burst out in front of him. Mozart blinking at him under the dim light of flickering candles; exclaiming “mon ami" with passion and delight; his jovial and capering gait; his fingers gracefully dancing, lingering on the keyboard; and the way he climbed up from the sickbed, staggering towards him, trying to give him a hug—

“I … I am willing to pay anything.” He said finally. The shock in his eyes was consumed by a wild flame. He flinched at the words slipped out of his mouth, before walking towards the snake resolutely, just like what he had done to countless icons in the past nine years. He kneeled in front of it: “Take what you want.”

“You are such an interesting person, Maestro Salieri.” The thin, vertical pupil of the snake was fixed on him, while from its mouth spit out a man’s laughter. The sound was deep, soft as velvet and cold as ice. It was mocking him: “You were envious of that Maestro, you resented him, kept blocking his way with astonishing passion. Yet, you were consumed by contrition and woe after his death…… You prayed endlessly, donated to church, offered to tutor his child, secretly helped his wife to get a stable living. Why bother?

“Ahh, I see.” The snake didn’t wait for his answer. It was swaying wisely, moving closer to the man in an very intimate fashion. “You loved him, did you? In the way that a man loves a woman. You loved him, but also hated him, perhaps, in the way that a man hates the woman who had conquered him. You hated him for subjugating your soul without any effort. Am I right?”

A strong storm swept through Salieri’s soul. His hands, previously holding the floor steadily, started to shake.

At first, he thought it was because of anger. He raised his head. A growl was on the tip of his tongue. It was not so. No, no, no, no. NO! How dare you make such wild, outrageous guess?

Then, he saw his own reflection from the eyes of the snake: Pale, embarrassed, stunned, trembling in agony. Countless emotions were clearly visible on that face, but there was no anger.

I… loved him?

Ah, I loved him. Of course, I love him. 

 

Twisted, white-hot, sweet and bitter, crazy and sharp——whenever Salieri looked at the golden genius, his heart was torn by such feelings. So, they were not solely the result of envy. This was what innumerable poets had celebrated, and what Salieri had never experienced……Love.

Salieri buried his face in his hands. His heart was void. The knowledge brought him both relief and more suffering. He was like a lost traveller. After a long way of trudging and staggering, he finally found his path. Only then did he realise that, at the end of that path there was nothing, except the eternal flame of the hell.

I love him, but how could I?

How dare I, how could I deserve——

All was clear. The strong emotion that caused him to tremble was not anger, but fear, Salieri thought. He was indeed scared of it. If he did love Mozart……love Wolfgang, everything he had done would be even more unforgivable.

For, mortified by his own mediocrity, he attempted strangle a genius;  
Ashamed of his own desire, he plotted to destroy his lover.

“Ahh, forgive me…” Salieri let out a low wailing. His hands were pulling his hair.

A finger, cool and sleek as the scales of that wicked animal, was lingering under his chin, and lifted it up demandingly. Salieri’s eyes widened. The snake disappeared, and in its place now sat a handsome man, dark hair, pale skin. His golden eyes were filled with chilly mockery. He spoke in the voice of the snake: “Behold, what I have just discovered—what devout love, what sweet torture. my dear maestro, ” His thumb was caressing Salieri’s cheek with endearment, “What a shame, your love is a poisonous tree, and can only bear bitter and poisonous fruit. Aha, our righteous Father in heaven will never hear your twisted wish…… Shrrr, don’t be so disheartened, that is why I am here.”

The man bent over, cupping Salieri’s face with both hands, and forced the confounded musician to look into his eyes.

“Think, my maestro, what is your wish? Then speak, do not reject me. I have the power to put an end to all your suffering, to quench your thirst, to fulfil your desire. That is if you bare your heart to me and submit your innermost yearning. ”His voice was soft as silk. It brushed against Salieri’s ears, like the flicking tongue of a snake. “Don’t forget, Antonio, you’ll go to hell for it. You are going to crawl in hellfire, squirm like a worm in time without an end. While your beloved maestro is forever bathed in the glory of heaven. He will look down upon you, disappointed, repelled by you. And sooner or later, he will forget you. You’ll be left behind his mind, no different than a grain of dust.”

“Think about it, my Antonio, Think carefully,” The man let out a chuckle. Scarlet light were flickering in his eyes, the tunnel that led to the abysm and raging flames. “You are giving up everything, for a mere chance to see him again? To kiss his finger tips abjectly, then turn back, and waste all the rest of your days in the fiery grave all alone? Are you truly satisfied?

Certainly. Salieri wanted to answer. This was how things should go.

For Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart had a golden soul. He was the brightest and purest of all human beings. He was brisk and vivacious, like moonlight—he suited the splendour of the entire heaven. He belonged to the flowers, to the Lord, to all the beautiful things in this world.  
But not to Salieri. He should belong to anybody, anything, but Salieri.

They were from two different worlds.

 

Every night after losing Mozart, Salieri would scrutinise his sins in the everlasting darkness. Tirelessly, over and over again. He labeled them each with a price, and let his soul to be torn by them relentlessly. He was indulging himself in such self-harm, and saw it as well-deserved.

Salieri didn’t need to be forgiven by god, nor pitied by Saints. Their pardon was meaningless—only Mozart, only Mozart had the right to judge his soul. His heart was aching with the desire to see him, to look into those eyes blazing with joy, to touch those fingers dancing on the keys along with the holy spirit one more time. I will repent, Salieri thought. I will repent to my maestro. I will shed all my disguise, reveal all the conspiracies and tricks from the past, along with my dark and corrupted desires. Yes, I will do it, even it will torn my heart. I will still face the judgement of the Lord, but before that, let me face that of Mozart, for I owe him more than I owe God.

Therefore, Salieri raised his face and muttered to the snake: “ Yes, that is what i want, Please—

But an icy finger pressed against his lips.

“You are surprisingly stubborn, Maestro.” The man, or the snake contemplated at Salieri, half praising, half frustrated. He was speaking honorific in a wanton manner: “Very admirable. However, you have to keep this in mind—I’m not some overly compassionate philanthropist or a good Samaritan. I never do such boring deals.

Salieri panicked at these words. An imploring look emerged on his face despite his effort to stay calm.

“Don’t panic, my maestro, I’m not saying that I’m not going to help you.” The man seemed very pleased with Salieri’s reaction, and let out a low laughter. “It’s just— in order to make this deal successful, I have more work to do. Come, dear maestro, let me take a look into your heart…” That pair of golden pupils was fixed on him, piercing his soul without any effort. “Oh, you must see this. You have so much dark and beautiful thoughts hiding here. Very Remarkable. You have no idea how precious you are. ”

The man let out a sigh of genuine appreciation and looked very satisfied. The next moment, he reached out his forefinger, his black nail landed in the centre of Salieri’s brows, “Well, let me give you a push.”

Salieri’s body shuddered violently at the touch.

A cold stream sank into his skull along the man’s finger tip, and spread towards every direction like a herd of snake. Wherever they touched, lust and obsession poured out, surging like spring tide. Unspeakable images were flashing through Salieri’s eyes—those most suppressed thoughts, his deepest secrets. All the fantasies, delusions, fleeting moments of madness including those he was never aware of suddenly flooded over him. They sprang alive, roaring, grinning, ridding themselves of the heavy chains set up by Salieri. Disregarding Salieri’s frightened curses, they flapped their wings and shot towards him, trying to control his body and bend his decision.

Wrath, Lust, Envy, Greed, Pride—Salieri clenched his head. He was trembling all over, watching the house of his reason collapsing in front of his eyes.

The other man was also watching him. His golden pupils sightly narrowed like a cat. He laughed out again.

“How about now, my maestro?” He spoke in a horrible, evil tongue of feigned naivety. “—Tell me, what is your wish?”

“I wish…”Salieri blurted out. Those wicked illusions, sweet dreams, sinful ideas seemed close enough to touch.

You mustn’t.

You mustn’t. Stop it, stop it, stopitstopitstopstopstop—STOP!

As if already anticipated the dreadful end, the remaining of Salieri’s reason howled like a dying creature, trying to overcome the voice devil had planted in his head. Suffering from a splitting headache, he collapsed on his knees, s. Cold sweat had soaked his back. He was desperately fighting with the devil in his body, attempting to rescue his, or even more important, Mozart’s soul.

“Oh, Antonio, don’t be so stubborn. Speak what you want.” The snake kept coaxing from aside. Salieri had never heard such a sweet voice.

No. No. Nononononononononononononono…… NOOOOOOOO—!

Without warning, Salieri’s hand shoot out to grip his own neck. His knuckles whitened with force. He was pressing on his vocal cords furiously, hoping to kill the answer in the throat. But the voice—broken, resentful, and fanatical—nonetheless sifted through. “I wish…” Salieri’s face raised against his will. He heard every word in utter despair. His own voice was speaking, like some ghost or evil spirit. “I want to own him, defile him, ruin him. I want to corrupt his soul with darkness, make him feel my desire, my agony—I want the soul of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart to join me in hell.

No, no—NOOOOOOO!

NO! This is not my wish. I never wanted to hurt him.

Invisible flames were scorching Salieri’s soul. He wanted to scream, to whine. He wanted to take his words back, wanted to die this second. While his kneeling body was all stiff. He couldn’t even move a finger, as if the body no longer belonged to him.

The devil’s power prevailed. 

 

“That’s better. A good wish indeed. I know you won’t let me down.” The dark-haired man clapped his hands happily. His golden eyes were gleaming like a child who just got his candy. He rose up while speaking, and wings started to grow from his back, curled horns sprouting from his forehead. The next second, his body, pale yet well-built, started to shrink, his hair growing longer— All of a sudden, he transformed into a fifteen, sixteen year old boy. With rosy lips and white teeth, he couldn’t look more innocent. Strands of black hair were resting on his shoulder, like the wings of a raven.

Devil, in the body of a teenager, was standing in front of Salieri. He glanced at him with amusement, then bent over. He fondly held Salieri’s cheek in his hands, and kissed his lips like a lover.

Salieri tasted sulphur and lava.

“You are mine now, Antonio.” The devil let out a string of joyful laughter, his face jovial and innocent. Flapping those giant black wings, he easily rose up from the ground. He left his final words before vanishing into thin air, “And soon, so will be Maestro Mozart—thanks to you. ”

In the gaze of a white-faced Salieri, the devil made a very exaggerated bow, and blinked naughtily: “Bon Appetit, my good maestro. Enjoy yourself. ”

Salieri was left alone in his room.

 

He looked around in bewilderment. The candles had been out for some time, while that Bible with gilded edge was still open on his bed. Night wind was chilly as usual. Following the devil’s departure, the boiling darkness within him cooled down rapidly, and was almost indiscernible at this moment. Salieri was shaken and confused. He would thought he had just went through an absurd nightmare—if his chest wasn’t suddenly burning.

Salieri torn open the left piece of his garment. A black pentagram was seared into his previously pale and stainless skin, right above the heart. It was very clumsy, apparently drawn with a poor hand, like a child’s doodle, but grinning hideously. The mark of the devil. He reached out his hand unconsciously to wipe it. It was in vain. The five-pointed star stared back coldly.

“I have to do something.” Salieri thought. Fast as I can, now, right now!

He staggered towards his desk at the corner of the room, but his knees gave up within just a few steps. He fell to the floor heavily. But the man didn’t seem to feel any pain, he kept getting up before falling over again, dragging his shaky legs, inching towards his destination. In the midst of his deranged mind, there was one last beam of soberness: The devil must not get what he wanted. He had to stop him. That one shall never lay his hands on Wolfgang’s soul. Never.

The small wooden desk in the corner was where Salieri stored pieces of his inspiration. It was piled with not only unfinished music, books and maps, but also a variety of works of art. Pantheon that could be placed on a palm, a five-inch-tall David, porcelain pieces from the East across the ocean, and all sorts of quaint novelties from the folks. Mozart had always liked collecting these odd widgets, like a child who refused to grow up. Salieri used to treat his hobby with disdain, yet seemed to have adopted it himself after Mozart’s death. He couldn’t help but sneak into the bazaar once or twice every month. A lonely collector.

Quills, ink, sculpture, sheets of music, music, and more music—that thing within Salieri was gaining power again. He resisted it with all his strength, his hands restlessly searching through the mess on the desk. There should be a pair scissors here. Scissors, carving knives, or anything, anything sharp enough to kill a grown man quickly. Anything would do.

But Salieri found nothing.

His head was filled with devil’s wild laugher. The evil perpetrator was torturing him with endless illusions. Trapped in delirium, the musician swept over the desk like a mad man. His long-cherished collections fell all over the ground. The terrible noise offered a brief relief to Salieri’s restless mind. He was trembling all over, trying to contain himself. He wanted to drown himself in the silence that duly followed.

However, before Salieri’s breath returned to normal, a very familiar voice popped up behind his back.

 

“Aah, Antonio! Is that you, my friend? ” That voice cried out in amazement. It was like a playing violin, strings vibrating, lilting with sweet melody, imbued in such warmth that it could make people shudder. And it had no plan to stop. 

“Is it possible to dream up here with open eyes? Please, do not laugh. After all, it’s been a long time since I last had a dream. Oh god, is dreaming something that gives people such happiness? If so, you must bring us more of it. Oh, Antonio, Antonio, Would you not turn your back and look at me? Would you not talk to me?

Every time the capering voice called out his name, the marrow-soaking loneliness inside Salieri was slipping away like a swirl wind. He couldn’t catch them even if he wanted to. For a moment, he was oblivious of his remorse, his weakness, his sins. He only wanted to cry, and to laugh out. He wanted to turn back and take the owner of that voice into his arms. He also wanted to escape, to jump the window at once. He was pinned on the spot by two conflicting urges. He hands were clenching on the edge of the desk, as if frozen by ice.

“Erh , it seems that mama’s words are true. The shadows in your dream cannot move, speak or laugh like living people.” Though it didn’t get any reply, that voice, Wolfgang’s voice went on. But the unbridled passion in it had faded away. His voice became low and tender, carrying a hint of sadness that could be easily missed. “Oh, Antonio, how much have I missed your voice and your smile—but you see, I’m not some ungrateful fellow. I’m already satisfied even I am only looking at your back.”

“Please allow me to come a bit closer, respectable maestro, please, allow me to touch your shoulder. I promise, just one touch, you won’t even feel my fingers. I know you don’t like to be touched, and I have absolutely no intent to offend. I just missed you too much. The kingdom of the heavenly father is very beautiful, filled with joy and light. It just lacks you.” Mozart was rambling like a child (Oh God, Salieri could imagine the look on his face), and his voice was closer, and closer.

“Oh, you have grown quite some white hair—is your back a little bent too? Hah, this dreams feels so real, I’m almost falling for it. Maybe when you come up here, I could be the same height as you.”It seemed he was finally aware of the mess around Salieri. “But your temper is never changed, I think. Look at the wreckages around you.

A hand, warm, slender, ivory, landed gently on Salieri’s shoulder. 

“I’m sorry to disturb you, dear maestro—”

Then a warm body approached from behind, tenderly and cautiously. The voice of Mozart was quivering. It was there, right there, behind his back. His soft breath slipped through layers of fabric and directly entered his heart.

Salieri swayed abruptly, before letting out a painful cry for some unknown reason.

 

The pentagram on his chest was suddenly on fire, as if scorched by a red-hot coal. The darkness inside him sprang alive.Thousands of voices was oozing out like ocean waves and muddy swamps. They sank into his veins, ripping his reasons, crashing his tranquility—Take him, ruin him, defile him, Make him yours, those voices demanded.

Splitting headache struck Salieri. The skin Mozart had just touched was burning. He turned back very unsteadily, and mustering all the rest of his strength and sanity, he pushed him away. 

“Are you all r— ” Mozart looked unbelievable, He hand was already stretching out to support him.

“No……No……” Salieri was growling like a trapped beast, his back pressing hard against the edge of the desk, his spine bending backwards. He was blindly waving his arms, trying to drive Mozart away, “Please….please…do not touch me!”

Please, I’m begging you, leave this place, leave as quickly as you can. Go back to the side of God, go back to where you belong. Salieri looked at Mozart.(That is indeed Wolfgang. God, Wolfgang is here, right here before him!) His eyes were filled with implore, struggling to pass the warning. He thought he had lost control of his month. It was hot and dry, like the mouth of a beast, made only for gnawing and tearing.

But he couldn’t help but to look hard through his blurred eyes, trying to make out more of the man standing before him. They were so close, yet so far away.

Wolfgang had undoubtedly became one of God’s favourite children. Though he was standing in darkness, soft light seemed to be radiating from his body. He looked stunningly beautiful, light and vigorous, so full of life, just like the young man Salieri met decades ago for the first time. Now, no illness could ever touch Wolfgang. Salieri was about to burst into tears at this sight.

 

“Go away!” Salieri pleaded again. His voice was more broken this time.

The blonde musician didn’t move. He was studying his friend very carefully. Confusion and shock were like two layers of fog, masking his sculpted face. He seemed to be struggling to distinguish dream and reality. When his eyes fell on Salieri’s chest at last, the musician let out a sharp gasp.

Following his eyes, Salieri looked down, and finally realised that mistreated shirt had long slipped off his shoulder, revealing the devil’s mark. He reached out hastily to cover it, but it was too late. The puzzled look on Mozart’s face had disappeared, replaced by an acute, profound understanding, and …sadness.

“Oh, Antonio, Antonio……” Mozart’s bitter and trembling voice was mingled with a sigh. It shoot through the chilly night air; its arrow plunged into Salieri’s heart.

Look. My ugliness, my malice, all exposed. Salieri thought bitterly. 

He body was all tense. It was shaking violently for trying to stop himself from pouncing upon Mozart. Through endless headache and the cold laughters of devil, he spoke to the blonde young man in the most tender manner he could manage: “Don’t you understand it now? Go way, go—my maestro, go back to your beautiful heaven.

Salieri thought his head was about to explode. Countless voices were battling inside. He had to stop to catch his breath, before continuing: “Being able to see you…that you are well and happy, is good enough.

However, these words appeared to be counterproductive.

Instead of following his wish, Mozart walked straight towards him.

Undaunted by Salieri’s dreadful threatening, disregarding his desperate pleading, Mozart was moving steady and fast.

“I know the tricks of Satan, perhaps better than you do.” The golden genius stopped in front of him, and spoke with composure. He seemed to have hesitated a bit, before carefully taking both of Salieri’s trembling hands into his, and looked up with an ardent gaze. To Salieri’s horror, those pellucid eyes were now filled with tears. “However, don’t drive me way, Antonio—your pain pains me also, your torment tortures me likewise. Heaven or earth, I could not escape them, and am unwilling to do so.”

At this, he even smiled at Salieri. It was a smile glistening like crystal. “Besides, you were giving up your soul just to meet me. Apart from you, no one had ever paid such an expensive fee for my appearance, not even His Imperial Majesty. If I leave you heartlessly now, wouldn’t you have made the most unprofitable deal on earth?

Perhaps it was because that smile was too bright, or his speech too sincere, Salieri was stunned for a brief moment. And those twisted and filthy desires seized the chance. They captured him, kept pressing him, forcing him to submit all self-control.

Salieri let out a painful cry as numerous thoughts exploded in his mind. His knees refused to support him any longer. He slipped from the desk, and almost fell to the ground—that was, if Mozart hadn’t charged forward to catch him.

“Careful—” His concerned words were only halfway through before turning into a startled cry.

 

For Salieri suddenly burst up from his position, pushing Mozart onto the desk behind him. One of his arms was firmly pressing against the musician’s neck, and the other supporting himself beside his head. There was little space left between them. Salieri looked down at Mozart. His eyes were fierce. Cold sweat covered his face. He was panting heavily.

“But, you do not know…”Salieri was squeezing Mozart’s shoulder blades with such force, making every effort contain himself, but his reason was collapsing too quickly. He was about to lose his voice: “You have no idea…what I had wished for…was—”

Mozart was caught in an utterly compromising position, but he calmly turned his eyes unto Salieri, examining him. He then tried to move his arm under the restraint awkwardly, and at last managed to put a finger in front of his lips, giving a vague sign of “be quiet”. But Salieri could no longer see things clearly, he seemed to have missed the cue. His lips were paper white, trembling with each breath. So Mozart got a second thought. He pressed his finger — that same finger, warm and supple—against the icy-cold lips of Salieri’s, silently passing the message of don’t talk. That move was entirely whimsical. It was carelessly made, but still bore a hint of erotic glamor, just like the way Mozart used to kiss.

Salieri could not utter a word. He shut his lips tightly, trying to cage the impulse of biting into the flesh.

Mozart was pinned belly up on the hard squat table, like some specimen of a golden beetle. The lower half of his body was completely without support, and his bent knees barely touched the ground. It was a very uncomfortable pose, while Mozart’s face was very peaceful. Unkempt blond hair softened his profile, and made his eyes look even brighter. He shook his head with difficulty, stoping Salieri from talking, “I know, what you had said was not your true wish—the devil always took pleasure from those forced to reveal their most distorted and barbarous delusions. His power is not something you can resist. ”

The next moment, Mozart abruptly stretched out his arms and caught Salieri’s shaking wrists. He led Salieri’s fingers to close around his pale, slender neck: “Did you wish to kill me? Or to kill my music? —Please, please take what you want, so you can escape from the devil’s hands unharmed, and enjoy the rest of your life in peace.” His gaze at Salieri was candid and docile, you could even call it soft and full of affection. “There’s no need to feel guilty, my Antonio, this is exactly what I want.”

Salieri’s hands suddenly tightened.

The young genius raised his head, trying to refrain the coughs, whereas his hands on Salieri’s wrist gave another encouraging press.

But a wail escaped Salieri’s mouth at it, as if he was scorched by fire. He immediately withdrawn his hands, and his whole body was shaking like a dying leave. But before Mozart had time to react, he was out of control again. He threw himself towards Mozart, gripped his shoulders with mighty strength, then leaned down. His teeth sank into the flesh on Mozart’s neck.

He tasted blood.

Sweet, warm blood of Mozart.

Blood rekindled the evil spirit inside Salieri. He was still resisting it, but his reason was drifting further away every second, as if squeezed out of his mind by heavy, strange and substantial darkness. He started to crave for revenge, for destruction, and more blood. The man standing here was him indeed, yet he was no longer himself. 

Salieri was all over the the blonde young man, ferocious as a starving wolf who wanted rip its prey. The will of the devil was operating on him. He seemed to have acquired monstrous and inexhaustible power. He was kissing, gnawing like a beast, breathing heavily, wildly tearing Mozart’s clothes into pieces.

When his chest was completely bare in the air, Mozart finally realised what was about to happen. He started to struggle and pleading unconsciously: “Antonio, Antonio—!”

Salieri was already undoing the young man’s belt. His raised up, and looked toward the blonde musician without focus. Mozart's was pinned under his body. Pale, youthful. with eyes like clear amber, filled with horror and shock. The light in them were so bright that Salieri couldn’t bear to look at them. 

Mozart had lost his bearing. He was shivering, helpless, calling Salieri’s name again and again, but he never showed a trace of disgust, resent or any kind of blatant malice. Instead, pure and passionate resolution was glowing at the bottom of his eyes. It was intertwined with profound fear, yet much brighter. Mozart was shaking uncontrollably, but he never said ‘no’. Despite the fear gripping his heart, he was entirely obedient, like a lamb on the alter, meek and brave, ready to make the sacrifice. He was determined to live up to his promise, to let Salieri “take what he wants”. 

And Salieri—or that thing occupying Salieri’s body, did intend to do so.

That head on Salieri’s shoulder was filled with a boiling mess. He was eager to leave his marks, with tongue and teeth and everything. From the neck, to the chest, to the lower abdomen……all the way down. Nailed firmly the desk, Mozart didn’t even know where to put his hands. He was panting and puffing in the middle of Salieri’s kisses, legs kicking, letting slip a scream from time to time.

He didn’t lose all his composure — until Salieri pushed a finger into him.

Mozart’s scream rose to an entirely different pitch, and was soon shattered into painful cries by Salieri’s rough handling. His body squirmed uneasily, trying to escape the strange sense of intrusion, only to be pulled back by the dark-haired man. Salieri was naturally absorbed by the warmness wrapping his finger. Closer, closer, devil’s voice was wooing into his ear. You should be closer to your Wolfgang.

Salieri sucked on the pale burning skin below him. Bitter and sweetness bursted in his mouth simultaneously. He was ravished with pleasure while also torn by remorse. His soul was banished from his body, its command taken away by the evil power. Devil’s frantic laughter was still echoing in his mind, and was only getting louder. His senses were still working. His reason was still clear, but imprisoned under the deepest water, and could do nothing except watching things unfold disastrously.

 

And Mozart? 

The blond child prodigy used to be the most brilliant star in the palace, doted by all of the court members, surrounded by young ladies and fed with their sweet power and rouge. His dissolute behaviour were witnessed by the whole Vienna, but it was only skittish and innocent playfulness, an intimate game dominated by men. He had no experience for such situation where he completely lost control. 

He was quickly reduced to a moaning mess under Salieri’s teasing. His fingers curled up desperately on the wooden desk, fumbling for anything that might bring a little comfort amongst the never-ending assault of the other musician. He eventually buried his fingers into the sweat-soaked hair of Salieri, and kept calling his name in a quivering voice.

Salieri was eagerly exploring Mozart’s body, like a piano tuner testing a new instrument. He had never lingered for bodily pleasure before—he thought that kind of contact was too intimate, too coy, soft, like the flickering tongue of a snake. It often made him bored and alarmed at the same time. However, Mozart’s body was like the best honey, or a mattress of roses, just right for him to fall for it. When he was finally inside Mozart, countless colours and music exploded in his mind, making his soul shiver.

Look at it, how perfect, how sinful, how intimate, how shameless.

Salieri’s soul was shattered and howling in despair, while his body was sated with pleasure.

 

His and Mozart’s body were almost moulded into each other. He was gripping Mozart’s waist and shoulders tightly, and entering his lover underneath again and again with piercing force. Mozart was pinned to the wooden desk by the unprepared attack. His face was colourless, beads of cold sweat glistening on his forehead. Pain—unmatched agony engulfed him, as if he was torn from inside and his soul penetrated. He was unable to hold back his tears, to make a cry or to utter a pleading word, but left only with broken sobs. 

For a moment, Mozart heard the devil’s laughter, and saw the flames in the abyss. On the slightly reddened skin of his chest, a jet-black pentagram emerged, marking the belonging of his soul.

Mozart was completely unaware of it, for a sudden rain of tears—tears mixed with sweat and blood—fell on his face like the blows of a heavy hammer.

They were Salieri’s tears.

What kind of expression was on that chiselled face. Salieri’s body was still ramming inside Mozart, demanding more insatiably. But his face, which used to be calm and restrained, now showed only numbness and sorrow, as if its owner was suffering from immense and unspeakable agony. He was trembling, miserable, silent in tears. Blood was dripping from the cuts on his lips. He looked like a dying beast.

“Oh, respectable maestro, dear Antonio—why are you crying?” God’s golden child forgot all the pain and torturing of his body. He struggled to reach out a hand, and shakily wiped Salieri’s eyes. Those feeble fingers were scrambling up, they brushed over Salieri’s neck, his chin, his cheek and the corner of his eyes. It was comforting, but also felt like scourges. Mozart had screamed too much that he could barely talk, but he kept talking, with a forced smile: “Please, don’t show this look…Your tears were not only dropping on my face, they also pierced my heart. ”

Mozart took Salieri’s quivering body into his arms and completely merged the distance between them. Both let out a vague moan at it. Then the blonde genius tenderly cupped Salieri’s pale cheeks in his palms, and gave him a soft and mournful kiss. Mozart licked the wounds on the elder man’s lips attentively, as if trying to wipe way every bit of blood and pain.

Salieri was startled by the kiss, like someone suddenly awakened from sleep. He pushed Mozart away the next moment, and collapsed to the ground. With a string of mad laughter, the devil had finally left his mind, like a flock of crow departing from a twig. He was briefly bewildered by the situation, but his face soon turned bloodless, his eye blank, his back bent by the unbearable weight of reality.

 

Wolfgang had such respect for him, loved him, saw him as a most intimate friend, pardoned his envy and hatred with generosity and love pure as an angel……And him? He ravaged him shamelessly, defiled him, dragged him from heaven into the hellfire.

He ruined Mozart’s soul, just like ruining his career.

How could I—-

How dare I—-

“Please…for……” Salieri looked at Mozart in despair. He was speaking before realising it, and had to force himself to stop. His neatly-trimmed nails had sunk deep into his palm, but he paid no attention. His eyes were fixed on Mozart.

Hate me, please, you should hate me.

That is what I deserve. 

But he had forgot, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart never had hatred in his soul.

 

Mozart’s figure had started to disappear, being dragged into hell—Salieri could even see the wallpaper of his room through his abused body, and hear Satan’s gleeful laughter. The marks left by Salieri was all over Mozart. He looked weak and painful, his eyes blank without focus. The emotions flashing inside were to complicated to tell. But, Salieri was certain that there was no hatred in those eyes. Everything, but hatred.

Mozart’s lips moved slightly, but no sound came out. Salieri was frozen in his spot. He wanted to close his eyes and hide himself in darkness, but he was unable to move. He was forced to wait for his final judgement in despair. 

“Why……Why did you want this?” At long last, Mozart asked in a husky voice, soft in tone, and a little nervous for how much was at stake.

“Because….” When Salieri finally retrieved his cracking voice, he found it more like a desperate sob, “Because I’m deeply in love with you.”

Because I’ve always been deeply in love with you.

Every syllable was like a painful slap on his face. Blood was dripping.

Because of love, I’ve committed unforgivable crimes.  
Because of love, I recklessly fell for the tricks of the devil.

How foolish……How ignorant!

 

But Mozart apparently didn’t think so. His eyes lightened up, like a pair of amber beads in darkness. He seemed to be unaware of Salieri’s inner struggles. All the pain and confusion were swept away from his eyes.

“You love me…You love me.” An content and innocent look blossomed on Mozart’s face. He looked like a sated cat.

“If you love me, then, everything that happened is happy.” He smiled at Salieri, “Satan got my soul, while I… I have your love. ”

“You love me…… Yes, yes, You love me, just like I love you.” Mozart's body was now a thin shadow, almost invisible, but the kept repeating these words, again and again, like an old penny pincher holding on his jewels. He looked fragile, and very bright, like he could shatter into a thousand pieces at any moment. While despite his condition, he stubbornly stretched out his hand, trying to touch Salieri’s cheek.

“Do not grieve, my maestro, my Antonio, There is nothing sweeter in the whole world. Soon, we will meet again, and at that time, we shall own eternity.” said Mozart.

—And everything was over.

Mozart’s golden shadow disappeared completely. Salieri was kneeling on the icy floor alone, from night to dawn, not knowing whether he should cry or laugh.

 

fin.

**Author's Note:**

> I only watched the Official MV of Mozart l'Opéra Rock in March and immediately fell for it.  
> This is my first time to do CN-EN translation, if you like it (or find any grammar mistakes), please kindly leave a comment!/  
> (The author of this work, Yi shi san ('jokeannnne' here in AO3), is a jewel in writers of this fandom. If you can read Chinese, please please try her other works. They are truly amazing!)


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